


Unforeseen Consequences

by KingpinCobblepot (Theonlylucysaxon)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: A very different sort of imagining, M/M, No safe word established but the word stop or no would have worked, Season 4 Episode 19, bdsm ish, because everyone deserves a fic for their birthday, fix-it ish?, like angsty rough sex XD, of their otp doing otp things, one shot of sexy times for a friend, so not super bdsm, someone gets tied up and beaten tho so whatever you call that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 10:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16365833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonlylucysaxon/pseuds/KingpinCobblepot
Summary: Episode 19, Season 4 in which Ed goes to Oswald again after the bank scene and explains he's just playing Lee. Oswald's reaction had to be genuine. But he wouldn't betray Oswald. Smut ensues. Kinky Smut. Don't judge me for the angst. It just happens.A (belated) birthday present to the adorable and super talented Spacelnvader on Tumblr!(spacelnvader.tumblr.com)





	Unforeseen Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spacelnvader](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Spacelnvader).



When the… God help him, but when the _Riddle_ r first wrote that letter to Oswald, it had been hope. A sort of hope which Oswald had scarcely allowed himself the luxury of before. It was hard to explain… How after so much betrayal. He still had the capability of wanting-- of craving Edward Nygma. So ridiculous was his affection, it endured still well beyond the poor treatment and somehow it even survived his hate. Yes, HATE. He hated Edward. Truly. Perhaps more than he had ever hated anyone else as no one else had ever managed to make a fool of Oswald before. Not like that. The hate burned in a rathful, constant sort of way. An obsession, poorly hidden and not particularly misaligned with who he was as a man. If anything, hating Ed was part of what defined him most of the time. A grudge did that. It nourished his soul. Kept him constantly aware, cautious, thinking… Alive.

And if hate kept Oswald alive, then the love was killing him. Slowly and surely.

It as not well known, not well advertised, never spoken of and far from a favored obsession. No, his love was buried within his heart, and hidden beneath the many layers of snide remarks and cruel glances. No one was allowed to know of his feelings, no one was allowed to know that the love lived inside him even now, and beyond all that-- no one was allowed to know how it was tearing Oswald Cobblepot apart to love him. He suffered these regrets in silence and in secret.

And so the note had offered kindling to the worst part of him, and it fed the flames of adoration as much as it offered him a chance for escape. An oh what an escape that was. Beautiful. To watch Edward be so much the man Oswald always knew he could be. It hurt everywhere somehow all at once, and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Soon though, Ed was back at _her_ side. Oswald should have known it would always be a woman between them. He should have seen it. Even the Riddler was incapable of getting past that ridiculous fixation on being validated by any and every woman who smiled at him. Lee was at least intelligent-- Oswald might even have liked the woman if she wasn’t the newest in the disgusting tradition of Edward self medicating away his self loathing with a pretty girl and more self delusion than it even took for Oswald to ever believe he had a chance of being loved back by the pathetic excuse for a villain.

Oswald cursed that he believed him for even a second when the Riddler told him he wanted to get rid of Ed and Ed’s love for the woman for good-- even worse still were the means by which Ed sought to prove his point.

“Oswald, we both know what I’m capable of. That woman cannot begin to fathom it.” He held his hands up in a duel okay sign that Oswald was all too familiar with as a favored hand gesture of the man before him. The penguin had narrowed his eyes with skepticism. And so instead of making any vague effort to convince him of anything, Edward leaned in and wrapped his arms around his back, pressing his lips to the shorter man’s. It had been so strange and enticing and surprising and fantastic. Oswald wasn’t prepared for it. He wasn’t even… Oh god his lips had been so soft. And his arms were so strong. There was something intoxicating in the moment of their bodies pressed against one another. The way he tasted. The  way he smelled. Oswald couldn’t hold back his desires as his hands desperately gripped that green suit jacket.

_“I need you, Oswald.”_

That had been what did it for the Penguin. What tore away any of his reserves. That ever so soft whisper of the man he so loved against his lips, and Oswald caved. He helped him, and in the process he ended up locked in a bank vault with the disgusting newest version of Butch Gilzean. The stench of closed proximity still burned into his nostrils and had undoubtedly ruined his favorite suit. And that he had the nerve-- the very GALL to actually make some little speech about how he was with Lee. How making a move against her was a move against him. Sickening!

Sickening was really the only word for it, and the only word Oswald felt compelled to throw at the Riddler as he arrived at Oswald’s latest safe house with a smirk on his lips and claims of a plan well executed. He had never wanted so badly to refreeze the man again in his life.

\---

Edward Nygma was no more, thankfully.

No he was buried along with all repressed notions of humanity and a potential for so called ‘goodness’ somewhere deep in their shared subconscious. No doubt weeping for the fact Lee was so perfect and could have been the one, yada, yada, yada. He had heard it all before. Different woman, same story. None of them really what Edward needed. The Riddler saw that. He was the only person to see it. Well, nearly the only person. There was Oswald.

There had always been Oswald.

And Riddler had meant every word he said. He needed him to drown out Ed for good, to work to screw Lee over and take control of the Narrows and what’s more the money she was so gleefully handing out for themselves. It was a grander scheme than he could explain, besides which tonight had to go in a way that guaranteed she believed he was loyal to her. Oswald’s reaction had to be genuine-- a fact which had nothing to do with how much the taller man liked watching Oswald’s face go purple as he screamed his lungs to exhaustion. No, that was just a happy accident. And all had gone exactly as needed. Well, except that kiss much earlier in the day.

The kiss had been unplanned, and what’s more unexplainable. He just… He did it because he knew it would make Oswald believe him. It was a bluff of sorts, but only to manipulate the penguins trust, which he needed for tonight to go as planned. The only problem was of course, what that kiss did. It awakened Edward in a way, and it revealed some rather unpleasant facts to the Riddler about just how deep his feelings for Oswald went. About what he would do for the man, what he wanted to do with the man, and what he wanted to BE to him. He had shoved down those questions and refused to contemplate them while they ran their plan and negotiated their strategy and his resignation certainly guaranteed his success.

But now the plan was over.

And while he wore an air of cool arrogance and a purely confident facade as he walked into Oswald’s safe house, internally everything inside of Edward Nygma’s mind, including the Riddler, was humming with a million different questions about what had evolved in their relationship with the Penguin-- or perhaps it was more about whether this had always been there.

\---

Soon enough the men are arguing.

Riddler is keeping that harsh, firm tone and the insistence he did what was necessary and logically that justifies it. Meanwhile, Oswald screams and spews threats and hatred with a vitriolic sort of rage that comes so naturally to him. It is all so signature them. The classic era of their rivalry. The good old days back again, before the ice and after the bullet. The time when they hated one another so much every day dream and every fantasy involved the other’s death or destruction or languid, vivid torture. Oh how lovely those times were, even in their complexity. Oswald had hurt him even more since then, but somehow it wasn’t enough. Everything was taken from Oswald and for a man who would have given Edward the universe, he would never be able to take enough to truly satisfy his hunger for ruining him. For degrading him. For _ending_ him.

Soon he’s throwing him out.

Oswald shouts for him to leave, screams to never come back. He has a gun out and it’s not entirely even clear where it came from, but he has it in his hand and he’s pointing it at Ed. It’s not even his weapon of choice, but it will certainly do in this little pinch to get his smug, perfect face out of the room.

The Riddler was going to leave. He was storming out already, offended and angry at the penguin’s ineptitude to see the gloriousness of his plan. However, very suddenly he was not the one in control, but rather a spectator. His body didn’t move. Edward wouldn’t let it. Instead, Ed felt tears sting his eyes. It didn’t make sense? Why did it hurt so much? Why did everything hurt so much? He just needed him. It was so sudden a realization, and even the Riddler was stunned into silence as his projection tried to push back into Ed’s mind, only to be shoved back out. NO. The Riddler had a time and a place. A reason. A purpose. And there were so many things he could ruin for Ed because in the end they didn’t matter. In the end, they’d never truly be enough to make him happy. But maybe… Maybe, just maybe for the first time ever in his miserable life, Ed had found something worth having. That kiss had left him to hope.

Oswald had brought the Riddler back with those oh so eloquent lips,  and now they had revived Ed in a manner of speaking. He stared into the barrel of the gun and felt his legs tremble.

Suddenly he fell to his knees, tears threatening his eyes.

“Please… I… I _need_ you, Oswald.” He begs. And at first, Oswald is just going to shoot him. Not to kill. Not to maim even. But in the foot? Maybe the hand? Enough to make him certain this isn’t a game he can play twice. To reassure the Riddler that the Penguin is not so gullible as to allow the same damned phrase draw him in twice. He would NOT be fooled again. But then the man crawled to him. On his knees, like someone on death row begging for their life, and his proximity closed in until the barrel of the gun was flush with his forehead. “Please, Oswald. I would do anything for you.”

Those words ghost over old fondnesses, over soft memories of days past-- over the notion that at one time Oswald had just loved Edward Nygma, without any hate in the equation. Suddenly the thought occurs to him… The Riddler would never say that. Even in manipulation. Because if he were the Riddler, he wouldn’t be capable of using Edwards emotions for his own gain. Thats not how the man worked. He played other’s and their expectations, but there were few cons he could never pull off because they required self awareness he simply lacked.

No this was genuine.

And what’s more it was Ed.

Their kiss from before floods back into Oswald’s mind, and he wonders if he can replicate it. It’s all very Edward-like, really. To think in terms of an experiment. To consider that kiss couldn’t be an anomaly if it was able to be duplicated. If that same… _feeling_ was there still. So without more than this hunch, the Penguin grabs that infamous green tie and hoists the man up off his knees. Ed is scrambling to keep pace with the sudden standing, in an effort to avoid choking on the tightening garment, but the moment he reaches his full height, he is surprised by the feeling of lips to lips. Having been prepared to assert his sincerity, Ed is at a bit of a loss at first. He hadn’t expected a kiss. He hadn’t been sure what he expected, honestly. Just definitely not a kiss.

It takes a moment and Oswald’s free hand-- the one not gripping his tie between them-- moving to slip under his jacket and around to press over his shirt and against the small of his back, for Edward to respond. It is worth that moment’s wait though, as suddenly there pours years of lost, frightened, misplaced feeling into this one kiss. It burns and scorches both their souls with the intensity. It had been needed like rain to a draught, like a fire in the darkness. Oswald pulls back with a soft breath, and Edward grips either side of his face with a soft whimper, not ready to let go of this yet. There was still so much left to say without any words that could scratch the surface of expressing them. He needed more. He needed everything. The gun which had clattered to the floor when they embraced, now gets kicked away by Oswald, and Ed is too busy trying to pull him in for another kiss. It’s deeper still than the first, when Oswald does oblige. All tongues and teeth and heat and lust. It’s building. The want they both have suppressed for too long, a want that the needy little Edward had never even allowed himself awareness of while Oswald satisfied it only in the darkest nights alone in his bedroom by moonlight with his own hand.

The need for one another.

The need for the fulfillment they will only ever find with each other.

Soon suit jackets are being thrown to the floor and Oswald stumbling back with Edward grinding against him eagerly. Their breathing was mutually shallow, hoarse gasps of air caught between too many kisses and nowhere near enough as their hands just kept wandering one another’s bodies with desire.

Hunger.

_Desperation._

Just what each is desperate for though is very different. Edward wants to know Oswald, to appreciate him, to have him in all the ways he was too stupid to realize he wanted until right now faced with the possibility of having them all. It’s so much. Too much. His hands are tugging Oswald’s shirt tails out so they can snake beneath the fabric and make contact against the bare skin of his back. Such hot, soft skin. Ed’s hands are cool, almost cold and Oswald gives just the right sort of exhale from the contact and offers Ed a chance to kiss his way along the column of his neck. The pale skin there is so untouched, so pure, and Edward rakes his teeth reverently along the lines of hollow indentation that trace the edge of his pulse point. This is what Ed is, what he lives for and always has. The reactions he can get, the satisfaction he can offer-- the love he can express only in offering pleasure to the person he loves. It isn’t until now though that he realizes just how much he has never loved anyone else. Not like this. Not with this kind of need.

However, Edward soon finds himself shoved back, and his heaving chest, dilated pupils, and clearly very evident arousal all  mount together in culmination with a look of fear and irritation on his face. Was this Oswald’s plan? To get him like this, to make him want so much his stomach twisted and his blood boiled-- and then not follow through?

It was a hell of a plan, if so. And Edward felt in this moment he might not survive it.  

Luckily for him, this was not what was in Oswald’s mind.

No, the bird had an idea far worse, and far more cruel for Edward. For where every touch and taste, very soft caress and zealous grope of Edward’s body had been done with such a sincere sort of love that he hadn’t even believed he could feel anymore-- Oswald’s motivation was different. Oswald still felt the hate. It hadn’t gone anywhere. Still burning inside his chest, still consuming all the other feelings, still far easier to understand and cope with than his disgusting sort of love. At least hate meant something. At least hate could accomplish something. Oswald looked at a man who wanted him so much, he seemed to break with the weight of it right before his blue green eyes… And that was enough to set the Penguin certain of what he would do with Ed.

He said he would do anything for him.

Just what did anything mean?

\---

He might have chosen some more public form of degradation and suppliance were he not himself nursing certain desires of his own. Ed tasted just as he’d always imagined, and at the same time it was nothing at all like he had dreamed of. It was better. It was worse. It meant everything, and yet was absolutely nothing. Oswald wanted more of Ed just as much as he wanted nothing from him. Here and now he would get both.

They were in Oswald’s bedroom after Oswald had instructed Ed to follow him, and received only an obedient head nod. Whether he was fully resigned or not to the notion of Oswald being in control was unclear, but the Penguin certainly hoped for the latter. It wouldn’t be as much fun if Ed fell into line too easily.

Once inside, with the door safely locked, Edward was stripped to the waist with a sudden ferocity of ardor, Oswald gripped the back of his head and kissed him excitedly, which of course Ed obliged without much protest. It wasn’t until Ed’s torso was bare, his tie and shirt discarded on the floor beneath Oswald’s feet, and Ed reached out to remove Oswald’s tie, that the taller man would find himself suddenly shoved onto his knees. His dark eyes stared up at Oswald as he grunted and yet again obeyed. He was about to speak-- about to ask what this was about and what was happening, but Oswald interrupted. “Don’t bother. I’m not going to tell you what I have planned. That is after all apparently how you think our little partnership ought to work, right?” Ed’s eyes narrowed for half a second as he realized what Oswald was referring to. The plan from earlier that night. Suddenly, Ed began to really worry what he had gotten himself into. Not that he could or would turn back.

That wasn’t an option anymore.

Ed’s silence only served to anger Oswald who suddenly delivered a stinging slap to Ed’s face. Both men locked eyes for a moment, as the sound still reverberated through the room and there seemed to be a second of mutual concern. Was Ed okay with this? Oswald seemed uncertain for that second, as if this was too far. He gave Ed the chance to decide that, and yet met the gaze of the much shorter man with newly awakened and unadulterated lust burning in his eyes. Ed had his chance to leave, and he silently declined it. Oswald moved along, his anger remembered in the second he knew this was what they both wanted on some level. In at least as much Oswald needed it and Edward needed him.

“Answer me when I speak to you, Edward Nygma!” He spat and followed his first slap with a second, just as hard and again thrown against those oh so perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Ed gasped against the strike and closed his eyes before speaking softly.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill out and Ed had been so prepared to say a smart remark of some sort, he almost is surprised with his own sincerity. Then again, with all the blood rushing to his groin, it’s a shock he can manage coherent words at all. In all his life, never had Edward been this excited by anyone, even his own darkest fantasies. His body was responding with chills that skittered over his skin and seemed to electrify every inch of him with a hyper sensitivity. Which is why when Oswald proceeds to trail a hand over his cheek and down his neck to his shoulder, Ed can’t help the way he presses into the touch. It’s chemical, his body reacting to stimulation it craved. Even if it made him look all the wanton, mewling pathetic little sexual deviant. Knelt before what was once the most powerful man in Gotham, and now was a man with nothing, as Edward begged for him.

“You said you’d do anything for me, Edward… Was that what kissing Lee Thompkins was? I saw you two.” Oswald hissed and grabbed a handful of Ed’s chestnut curls to yank them back and force eye contact between them. Jealousy-- which Oswald would never admit to-- dripped from his tone. “Or perhaps you were referring to making me look like an absolute idiot. Was that doing ANYTHING for me? No… I think you need a reminder of just what it was you promised me, Edward. Of just what is is you’re trying to offer. You want to give me anything, then I’m going to take just that.” He spat, sounding somehow both the petulant spoiled child and the firm, forceful dominant. After a moment of pausing to admire just how beautiful and repulsively perfect Edward was, Oswald let go and stepped back. “Get on the bed.”

That’s all the instruction he gave as he adjusted his shirt, tucking it back into his trousers and reaching onto the floor to remove Ed’s discarded tie.“Hands above your head.” This is the first real hesitation Oswald sees as Ed is quick to note the tie and to understand just what is about to happen.

It is, as the Riddler echoes, an embarrassingly brief pause though, between the command issued and the action carried through. He stretches out on the bed with his hands above his head, resting against the cool metal of the headboard and soon enough Oswald is wrapping the tie around his wrists, tightening it way too tight. Until the material tenses against his skin and Edward can no longer hold in the yelp of pain that sounds from him. It hurts. Good, Oswald considers. That’s the point. It ought to hurt, and Ed has a very distinct feeling this isn’t the only time he’s going to be hurt-- nor is it the only time he’s going to enjoy it as much as this. Just the straining of his skin as the soft silk bites into it-- just that is enough to send ripples of pleasure coursing through him. It is enough to make his already throbbing arousal all that much more frustrating. No one ever had the nerve or the right or the ability to touch Ed like this-- But then perhaps that’s how it ought to be. Perhaps Oswald should have the power. Perhaps he should be the only one with it-- the only one who with the ability to make Ed tremble and whimper and fall apart as he was already so very very close to doing.

To think, they were only just getting started.

Watching Oswald back up, it occured to Ed that the Penguin must have been planning this. Must have known. Must have been oh so certain of just what he’d do to Ed if ever allowed, and how delighted he must have felt to finally have the pleasure of first hand experience.  He would be right in assuming that as well-- _mostly_. While Oswald was enjoying this so much he feared actually reaching the moment of intimacy as this alone was so intoxicating, he would hate to see it end, he had never actually let himself imagine having this much control over Ed. Even in his wildest fantasies, the riddle man fought back, wanted dominance, refused to surrender and so instead Oswald lay on his back and took what Ed was so aching to give. Now in reality, he had it in a way he had never even dreamed possible. And it was so much better this way.

Once he had Ed tied arms first to the headboard, Oswald took a lingering look down his naked torso and enjoyed the sweet sight of just how beautiful he had always known Ed had to be. He let himself sink to sit on the edge of the mattress in admiration of his beauty. As Oswald’s fingers reached out to trace invisible lines over the taut skin of his neck, Ed’s eyes slipped closed and he let out a hiss at the touch. As if it were painful to be touched like that, so honestly-- so wantonly. By someone who saw him so clearly. Maybe in a way it was, but Oswald didn’t waiver. His hand continued. Ed’s  chest was softly sculpted beneath fair, supple skin which had colored pink from the cool evening air and likely from a tinge of modesty at being laid bare and inspected as such. His nipples were already hard and Oswald took time to gently brush his fingers against one to again hear that oh so breathy sort of gasp drawn from Ed’s perfect mouth.

He pinched one, rolling it between his fingers just to feel Edward flex beneath his touch, a subtle and desperate sort of stammered writhing of his body as he tried to hold back. To not seem so pathetically needy. To not reveal so easily all that he carried inside him for Oswald. To keep safe the fact that Oswald could and was playing his body like a toy. So many things Ed seemed not to want to make so very obvious, yet was failing at-- as even the Riddler’s chiding was being drowned out by the thrumming of his pulse inside his ears. He had never been this turned on in the entirety of his life, and his body was rejecting any notion of suppressing any expression of that fact .

With his back arching off the bed and Oswald having teased both his nipples until tears welled in both of Ed’s eyes, the Penguin finally moved on from his exquisite chest down the hollow dip of his stomach. Had Edward always been so skinny? Oswald wonders if he’s been eating enough but banishes the thought for later. No. He isn’t here to love Ed. That’s not what this is. He is finally going to be able to punish Ed, and his hand moves to the v of his hips, fingers tracing against the bones as they seem so very very touchable. Yes, this is about punishment. Which is why as his hand gently explores the line of hair at the base of Edward’s stomach, just dipping the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers, he stops. Just as Ed was arching against it to and holding his breath in such an excruciatingly seductive sort of way, Oswald moves away entirely and his wait shifts off the bed-- which of course led to Ed’s dark eyes flying open to look at Oswald in an utterly frantic sort of state.

“Oswald, what--” Before Ed can even get out his question-- which admittedly takes him a moment to form as he struggles to even find his breath, his voice, and the basic cognition needed for speech, Oswald has his cane in hand and brings it down to crack against Ed’s stomach-- effectively knocking the wind from him.

“No, no, no Edward. You don’t get to ask questions. You know what this is. You know what you deserve.” Their eyes meet and Ed can’t remember what his question even was. He wonders how Oswald knew what pain did for him? How it aroused him… Was this about arousal? Was this sexual? Were they both just damaged in the same way and it happened to work that they had found each other? Or maybe this was all just a happy accident. That Edward was the most sexually excited he had ever been and Oswald was delighting in what seemed to be a plan to beat him. An inelegant kind of torture, but still yet something which made his already racing heartbeat quicken even more.

Oswald gripped his cane and wondered if he should continue. He could see where Ed’s pale skin was going to bruise along his rib cage and stomach from the single blow alone. He could break his ribs if he continued, and then their fun would have to end. He considered better, climbing on top of him to straddle his hips-- just close enough to feel the brush of their hips against one another and to  bring their lips oh so close together, a featherlight touch that felt them exhale against one another. After rocking his hips lightly with just enough friction to elicit a moan from not only Edward, but Oswald himself as well, Oswald leaned in close to Ed’s ear to whisper simply. “Roll over.”

Ed, who had likely even now, not been expecting that, looked up at his hands with curiosity. Yes his wrists were tied together in a way that would allow him to flip. Okay… Okay, he could do that. He lifted up and felt Oswald shift to one side of him, to aid in the flipping of Ed’s body as he stretched his arms and let out a fresh hiss of pain. The knots that were tight only grew tighter like this. And it was glorious.

His back being exposed meant Oswald would see his scars. Ed cared more than he wanted to about it, but braced himself for whatever disgusted noise Oswald might make. He felt confident their game wouldn’t end with it, and he could take being derided. It was far from the first time. What he hadn’t expected was the way Oswald brushed his hands almost reverently over the skin, kissing behind Ed’s ear now as he remained far too close. “I admit, you are a beautiful man, Edward. But even that won’t save you from what you deserve….” He hummed the words out so ominously and they seemed to strike and reverberate through every inch of Ed. As if he were hollow, only to be filled up and given life by Oswald’s attention.

It was such a small, simple word.

Beautiful.

And yet it fit inside this empty place in Edward’s heart that he had never even known was there until it was filled. Until he was loved. Or if not loved, at least really fully understood, and wanted all the same. Maybe that’s all love really was. It was in the midst of considering just how much it meant for him to have said what he did, that Oswald moved back off the bed. The space between them only made the tension grow denser as Ed wondered what would come next only to be stricken with the cane yet again. This time there was no pause, no hesitation, before another blow came. And another. Hard, fast, aggressive beatings that made Ed groan and tense and shift. Not away, but up-- higher-- craving another as soon as the instrument lifted from his skin. He wanted more. He needed more. Soon Oswald was beating Ed as roughly and viciously as Edward could take without that pleasure edged pain giving way to broken bones and internal bleeding. Oswald knew the line-- the pressure, the speed, the angle of the hits that all worked together to ensure it was never too much and yet always so much more than enough. By the time he stopped, Ed’s scar laced skin was blossoming into the most beautiful shades of purple and blue.

Oswald felt like an artist for how lovely he had made such an already beautiful man look.

He moved back onto the bed again, this time he began to remove his shirt. Finally, he was undressing and likewise, he reached out to help Ed flip back over so he could undo his trouser button. Soon enough, Ed was in his boxers, as was Oswald, and the penguin was so enamoured with the feeling of so much skin to skin contact that he rested his entire body against Ed’s as he kissed his neck. Ed was so warm now, so full of life and lust and want and it was a sensation of pride that filled Oswald as he knew he had been the cause. It wasn’t until he kissed his way along Ed’s jawline to meet his lips again that he felt the true weight of just how much Edward wanted him back. Their lips met and Ed surged his head upwards to catch the kiss and keep it. Passion meeting passion, colliding against one another’s lust as Oswald tangled a hand on Ed’s hair and both men pushed tongues into one another’s mouths. Tasting each other.  Fighting for dominance in the kiss much as they had downstairs. Only now there was nothing reserved. Nothing held back. Nothing hidden or unsure or tempered in the slightest. They were themselves. Exposed to the flaws, open with the affections, and clearly irreparably in need of one another in a way neither would ever be able to be deny.

Kissing led to more kissing, until finally Oswald moved back, his thighs on either side of Ed’s hips where he had been grinding into him.  So ferocious was the need of his that Oswald had effectively been rubbing along Ed’s hardened length for some time now, without even considering just how much he had both wanted, and not wanted to be able to satisfy him. Had he been punished enough? Was this everything he was to endure before Oswald gave himself fully over to the ever so seductive idea of Edward Nygma?

When Oswald pulled back from their kisses, Ed felt a huff of frustration escape him.  This wasn’t fair! He couldn’t keep stopping and starting! He needed to… He had to… Ed couldn’t even think of the words, but all he knew for sure was that this was far, far from fair. Oswald wanted to punish him? Well, there was little better punishment than-- His thoughts halted as he felt the kiss swollen lips of his greatest rival brush along his clavicle. Oswald’s tongue dipped along the indentation of his collarbone, laving against it and making any indignation had by Edward fade into the vast oblivion of everything else in the universe. There was nothing else anymore, after all. Just them. These two people, on this far too luxurious bed, filling in the many places in one another’s souls that were built only to accommodate the other. Like pieces of a puzzle which only now found their mate.

Oswald continued his assault of kisses to Ed’s body and kissed his way down along his chest, giving fresh attention to each nipple as his lips and tongue offered the same kind of torture as before. First to one. Then to the other.

Soon Edward was keening for a release, all incoherent noises of pleading falling on not deaf-- but certainly not sympathetic ears. All the same, Oswald continued down his body still further, kissing a path along Ed’s stomach before finally reaching the waistband of his boxers. Edward could have gripped him tight in this moment if only he had his hands. He was so desperate for this, and Oswald’s hot breath against the far too thin material against which his hardness strained, certainly wasn’t helping. However, Ed closed his eyes and tilted his head back, swallowing roughly as he prepared for more teasing, only to gasp softly when Oswald began to kiss along the waist of the garment, as he was beginning to pull it down. With every inch of exposed thigh, Ed came closer and closer to truly being revealed and after only a moment of Oswald tugging down the material and kissing the skin as it was laid bare for him,  Ed’s arousal was freed from the garment and of course Oswald took a moment to appreciate the newly exposed aspect of the other man.

This was the most intimate Oswald had been with… well, anyone. And he’d never been so sure in the course of his life that it had been the right decision until now. Because everything he expected to feel when looking at his lover like this was what he now felt. His mind filled with the singular notion of lust and whatever cruel teasing he might have had in store for Ed was lost to his desire for the singular idea of Ed’s pleasure and his own.

He took Ed into his mouth, moving his head to gently roll his tongue along the head and taste the precum. The taste of salt, and sex filled Oswald’s mouth and what had been such a testing sort of moment soon gave way to the passion and desire between the men. Oswald began to dip his head, to bob back and forth and work on taking Ed, little by little deeper into his mouth. As he did so, his one arm rested against the flat of Ed’s stomach to hold him up, and his other arm worked a hand up and down Ed’s shaft. The taller man moaned and thrusted with a wild sort of abandon. Oh the torture of foreplay that lead to this, and finally he was getting the touch he had really craved for so long. It was reckless, rhythmless, just a needy and inexperienced man begging for release as Oswald tried to steady the both of them. He was busy rutting his hips hungrily into the mattress, seeking a climax he knew he couldn’t get this way. It was this frustration that finally had Oswald pulling back and away from Ed.

Another long groaned escaped the man and before Oswald could even explain, Ed was dribbling out the word please. Please. Again and again, tears ran down his face and his sweat slicked curls clung to his forehead as he begged, literally, dark eyes staring at Oswald as he heaved and seemed about to fall apart all together.

It’s then that Oswald realizes what this is to Ed, a futheration of his punishment. In reality, Oswald was going to take off his own boxers, and perhaps ask Ed to return the affection Oswald was currently giving him. Or still yet, Oswald could just rub himself with one of his hands while he continued the sweet surrender of pleasuring Ed. Oswald realizes Ed has certainly suffered enough though, and decides to finally let him have a little of the power back. He moves up the bed, untying his knots and freeing Ed’s hands which immediately go to him. He cradles his head with one hand and Oswald’s hip with the other as he suddenly flips them, pinning the Penguin beneath him and beginning to kiss him hungrily as he pulls Oswald’s legs up around his hips and begins to thrust roughly against him. The kisses between them are hard and rough and leave little to the mind’s imagination of what Ed intends to have right now. He gives a frustrated growl when he realizes Oswald still has on his boxers though, and untangles their bodies only long enough for Oswald to remove them. Then they are together again. Ed is gripping, squeezing the backs of Oswald’s thighs and the soft flesh of his ass, seeming to try and convey with touch alone just how badly he needs him. His hands, all but clawing at the smaller man who moans into Ed’s mouth with the sensation of it all.

By the time he feels Ed start to try and press a single finger into him, Oswald is as breathless and needy as Edward had been. He feels the burning pain of the intrusion though and reaches between them to grab Ed’s wrist suddenly. “No.”

Ed frowns deeply, his almost smug expression as they kissed giving way to doubt and uncertainty. “N-no?” His eyes searched Oswald’s face for an explanation, even as he never made any move to push, press, or pressure.

“In the night stand.” He managed to stammer out and pointed over at the location in question with a trembling hand. Ed’s erection pressed into his inner thigh as his rubbed between their stomachs, and both those points of contact had Oswald literally shaking. Ed was still confused but did reach over and open the drawer only to find the various small bottles of lubricants. Ah. Of course. How could he be so thoughtless? Well, Oswald beating him and then sucking him is how, but it hardly felt like an adequate excuse. He would have to apologize later. Much later. After this. After they finally had what they both felt like they were dying for.

He randomly chose a bottle because it was green and the scent of gardenias and white tea filled his nose as he covered his fingers in the clear substance generously and blushed a little at the way Oswald watched him. Was that what this felt like? Was that what this was supposed to be? Was sex supposed to feel empowering and vulnerable all at the same time in the best and most terrible ways. A part of him wanted to drown in those deep sea blue eyes, and another part wanted to kiss Oswald just so he didn’t have to feel them on him anymore. So earnest. So imploring. So overwhelming.

Soon it wasn’t an issue as his freshly coated finger began to push inside of Oswald. Edward had done this to himself enough times to know how it would feel. To know what Oswald would need. The time, the easiness, the gentle force. It was all so natural, and he peppered small kisses over Oswald’s face as he did it just because he needed to not be caught in that gaze and also because he had been wanting to do it forever it felt like-- even if only consciously desiring it in the last twenty or so seconds. Oswald’s eyes rolled back as the one finger reached it’s full penetration and his head fell back against the pillow, offering a perfect opportunity for Edward to return the favors of before by kissing and sucking at Oswald’s neck. Oswald had once mocked Isabella with that little quip. _Ed loves a neck_ , he had said. Oh, but how right he was. And Oswald’s was so different from any Edward had ever had the pleasure of examining before. His Adam’s apple in particular and the way it bobbed against Ed’s cheek in rough swallows as Ed bit small places in against the line of Oswalds jaw in particular was both fascinating and enthralling. Had he not been pushing a second and soon third finger into Oswald, he could have spent an hour playing with Oswald’s neck. Biting and sucking the skin as his eyes and ears took in every last sensory response he could elicit.

Somewhere in the back of Ed’s mind, the Riddler hummed with pleasure not only over the little assortment of lubricants, but also over the way Oswald stretched so easily for his hand. How ready he was already. The Riddler toyed with the idea of Oswald touching himself, filling himself with his own fingers as Ed’s name-- or better yet the name Riddler came tumbling from his lips in clumsy, lust-driven moments of heat and need. Did he lay in this very bed and imagine his fingers were Eds? Did Ed’s fingers now offer some fulfillment of a fantasy? Questions that pleased the Riddler immensely to consider, even as he remained in the silent, calculating, and currently wholly ignored part of Edward’s brain.

Three fingers was as much as Edward could manage for all his self control, before he knew he had to have his way with Oswald. He had to have him. There was turning back for Ed, and as long as Oswald would let him, he would take what he had for so long kept himself from knowing he wanted.  When he removed his hand, Oswald’s body flexed and he let out a little whimper for the loss, his hands gripping to Ed’s shoulders as he leaned up to kiss his lips. Ed is generous as he spreads lubrication over his own length, being aware that even in all of this, he could feel Oswald’s inexperience beneath him. The trepidation now that things were here and it was real, and Edward was going to ravage him… Oswald had never loved anyone in the way he loved Ed before, he had also known that, and even as Ed considers that love may be far and away gone, he does believe time has not passed enough to concede Oswald’s heart to another, surely. His vanity sparks ever so slightly under the idea he is of course not such an easy man to get over, and furthermore Oswald had been willing to die for him with Barbara Keane that fateful day… No, no Oswald couldn’t have ever been with anyone else. Here and now, this with Ed. This would be his first. A smile hides behind his eyes, unable to make it to his otherwise occupied, kiss entranced lips

Somewhere in the middle of all the roughness, and all the desperation, they had found their way into soft sureness of what this was. Tenderness was allowed and Ed lined himself up with Oswald’s entrance just as he brushed his lips against the other man’s. The word love is never uttered but it occurs to each just how much they feel it for the other, and in their own rights each man knows as Ed thrusts his way inside of Oswald-- breaching him-- _claiming_ him, that it matters little if the other feels the same.

Oswald could live without Ed’s love. He could make a life out of giving himself to Edward and even find contentedness so long as he is allowed to do so. To love him is all he wants in this moment, and all he can ever imagine wanting from the man. His hate is there, but it’s buried so deeply beneath the swelling hunger that is the starving love he had been neglecting all this time. His hate for Ed is so well fed, so well kept and now it rests in idleness in the back of his brain as his love surges inside of him like an animal of the wild freshly released from it’s cage. His thighs clench around the oh so sweet pain of intrusion that Edward provides, and Oswald knows he is lost to this here and now. Ruined forever of convincing himself he can keep his feelings of desire and affection at bay. This here and now ruins him. He will never be the same.

Edward likewise has lost any ability to deny himself as Oswald’s tight heat engulfs him greedily. He loves Oswald. Perhaps he always has. Perhaps when he approached him on their first instance of meeting in the GCPD it had been a lustful school boy crush that fueled his fascination. He vaguely recalls his own embarrassing arousal when reading over some of the case files surrounding the Penguin’s crimes. But he had always attributed it to just being his love of violence. Then perhaps, the two were not mutually exclusive. At a later date, Ed would backtrack his feelings and try to pinpoint just when this all passionate love bloomed first for Oswald. When he fell in love. He will look at the facts and practicality of it all, and decipher just when his feelings evolved.

One day in the future, Edward Nygma will apply his magnificent mind and apply scientific logic to the otherwise illogical notion of love, and understand just when this happened.

One day.

But not today.

Certainly not now. Not as he has to scrunch his eyes tightly closed and press his face into Oswald’s neck to still his overwhelming urge to thrust into him. In and out. Hard. Fast. His hips are alight with chills as he uses all his self control to keep himself stationary. He won’t hurt Oswald. No, not even as Oswald’s bruises cover his own back and Ed can feel the most sensual sort of sting every time Oswald's ankle or fingertip brushes over one as the smaller man clings to Ed. Ed is waiting for Oswald to relax. His tears of the sting that comes with any first time run over his cheeks and Edward can feel them where he is nestling kisses to his jawline. The trickle over his lips and Ed licks at them instinctively. Then he kisses over the trail on Oswald’s face. And a little higher to his cheek bone. And over his eye and then he pulls back to stare down at him. There's so much both want to say, but there is a speechlessness between them that seems to stretch an eternity. What words can either offer? After all the pain they’ve caused each other. All the hurt and anger and bitterness between them can’t just be erased. But somehow it all fades away. It’s unimportant. Trivial. Perhaps it is because they are even now. Because both had done so many things, and neither had ever really been able to understand the other as well as they could have. Not like they understand one another now. And both want to say it.

They want to confess their own errors and forgive the other of his, and they both are so desperate to just make it clear that all the ugliness of the past can be let go. They can have this. They can have everything if it just… If the other would just… But the words don’t come and their long, beautiful look at one another is broken when Ed leans in to just rest his head against Oswald's. Sweat sticks hair against both their foreheads heads, but it doesn’t matter. Their breath mingles with the closeness and Ed breathes in the soft, deep infinity which they hold so delicately between them. His hips shift up, as the moment of truly profound intimate silence only beckons Edward to want more. It’s a small thrust, testing, questioning. He won’t ask. He won’t ruin this with words. Words were the death of them both and after all they have said to one another and all the words neither has the courage to say right now, they’re pointless. Besides, it is the sound of thundering heartbeats and shallow breaths which remind them both  of the only thing either could ever need audible reassurance of-- that the other person feels this want-- this aching sort of agony which calls to one another as the only possible source of satisfaction.

His testing thrust is met with a shudder from Oswald as the man nods, also understanding the wordlessness between them. That nod is all Edward needs, and it’s all he can really manage to wait for before he begins to thrust. Shallow at first, but deeper each time. He rocks in and out of Oswald with a reverent sort of lust and with each moan and murmur, Ed marvels at just how tight and hot Oswald is around him. How perfect he is. How right this all is. Oswald all the while lays beneath him with his nails biting into Ed’s still freshly bruised shoulders. His teeth clench against Eds bottom lip in a vicious little attempt to express his admiration for this all. The bite, which tugs at the overly sensitive flesh before releasing, elicits the most wonderful sounds from Ed. They blend well into the sounds Oswald is making, whether he wants to or not. The pain which had been there is passed. Now something else has come. Something more. Something beautiful. His tears had not just been about the sensation of his first time either, it has been relief in knowing that this was to come. This moment. This building, rising, ebbing sort of bliss that sparked with the affection he felt but was wholly driven upwards by Ed’s ever persistent thrusts.

This was it.

Both men could feel it in themselves and in the other. Ed is thrusting in and out of Oswald as he chases his climax and Oswald clenches around him in search of his own. It’s close. Soon. So soon. Yet never soon enough. Oswald’s length rubs between their stomachs, Ed’s hands grip either side of the mattress beside Oswald’s pillows. Oswald’s legs are locked around Ed’s hips with his arms around his neck and fingers digging into his shoulders. They are entwined with one another and in the greatest state of carnal satisfaction either had ever known. The closeness of orgasm extends for what feels like ages but is mere minutes. Before both men are spilling. Edward goes first with a hard thrust up into Oswald as he closes his eyes and greets a vaguely unfamiliar sensation. Contentedness is such a difficult thing to find when one is so full of self loathing and doubt and two fully developed personalities who both hate and manipulate each other. And so it is not the ecstasy of reaching the searing embers of a climax, with his body pulsing and thrumming in ways it never has before-- white spots flashing in his vision and endorphins flooding his bloodstream that Ed feels his truest form of wonder at the encounter. No it’s in the aftermath as it ebbs away that he finds both selves silenced. Content. Satisfied. The post coital bliss of having a lover who sees him, who understands him, who has been victim to his worst self, and still accepts him.. That is the best feeling he has ever known.

In contrast, Oswald finds his orgasm earth shattering. It is as Ed spills inside of him, that he spends almost reflexively. As if feeling Edward fill him, take him, find a true release within him is enough to stimulate whatever part of Oswald had been so long lost in so many ways. He moans for Ed in a way that is downright filthy and which echoes through the room and only feeds itself further into the kingpin’s sense of debauched-ness. Edward Nygma has undone him and he lays in the blinding, blistering overture of his own ecstasy for as long as he can cling to it. His body has never known such pleasure and proud hedonist that he is, Oswald stretches it out as much as possible, trembling and whimpering with his eyes screwed so tightly shut as he tries to prolong the pleasure, chasing every last drop of bliss which he can find before he finally slumps back into the mattress. He releases his grip in doing so, allowing Edward to likewise do the same beside him. The men lie in the bed, covered in their own sweat and with the evidence of their sexual endeavors staining the sheets around them and their own skin. Ed is the one who finally gets up on wobbly legs to wander into the bathroom and retrieve a damp towel for them to clean themselves with. He means to take it back after Oswald finishes with it and stands beside the bed, coyly smiling at the Penguin as he cleans himself.

Surprisingly, Oswald drops the towel to the ground with a bit of a challenging smirk and finally after ages of wordless communication, offers a fresh command for the taller man. “Lay down with me.” It’s a gravelly sort of phrase, hoarse from how strained his voice had become. But it’s still somehow soft. Almost tender. And Ed, for the dozenth time that night doesn’t even hesitate slightly in giving Oswald exactly as he wants. He climbs into the bed and curls up around him, nuzzling his face into his hair and breathing softly. This time, though-- unlike before, Ed gives a small admission even as he follows the orders given to him by the kingpin.

“Like I said before, I would do anything for you, Oswald.” It’s murmured into his hand and proceeded by Ed tugging up the duvet which had fallen to the wayside in all their excitement. He covered them up and they proceeded to find the strangest kind of sleep together, a restful sort of sleep that neither had ever known before. The sort of sleep which can only come from the rawest form of emotional and physical fulfillment.


End file.
